Unfinished Dance
by Hoedogg
Summary: A Glenoak character we all know uses makeup to conceal family wounds.


TITLE: " Unfinished Dance"  
AUTHOR: Hoedogg  
RATING: PG for mild language and adult themes.  
DISTRIBUTION: Just ff.net for now.  
SUMMARY: A Glenoak resident we all know uses makeup to conceal family wounds.   
DISCLAIMER: "7th Heaven" and its characters do not belong to me. They are cash cows milked by Brenda Hampton, Aaron Spelling, the WB, ABCFamily, and probably many other corporate fat cats as well.  I do not own the song lyrics which were used in this fic either.  Lyrics are included at the end of the story.

A/N:  This is a ficlet based solely upon some TWoP speculation about a certain 7H character.

***

As I finish applying crimson lipstick, I look at my reflection in the mirror.  Under azure eyelids, my mascara-coated lashes flutter sadly to blink away the moistness that begins to coat my corneas.  I am such an ugly creature.

***

Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence, I didn't feel that way about myself.  I didn't even think twice about it.  On the days when I would return from school and find that I was the only person home, I would just instinctively head toward Mommy's closet.

I don't know exactly when I first dressed up.  Maybe when I was eight or nine.  Why I did it, I'm not exactly sure.  It just felt natural.  I remember the first time Daddy came home and found me outfitted in one of Mommy's dresses and her makeup.  He laughed so hard.  "Well aren't you just the prettiest little thing?" he asked as he lifted me up and spun me around, with the bitter smell of beer heavy on his breath.  And I just laughed and laughed as he spun me.  It was one of those rare times that I actually enjoyed his company instead of being terrified.

Then he turned on the radio and we danced to the first song that came on.  The Spice Girls.  They were still big back then.  He tired soon, though, and sat down on the edge of the bed he shared with Mommy.  "We ought to wipe that crap off your face before Mommy comes home," he muttered.

"No, Daddy.  I want to show her how pretty I look."

He collapsed backward onto the mattress and raised his hand to his forehead.  "Mommy will get mad if she sees that you put on her things without her permission," he muttered.

I knew he was right, so I changed back into my clothes and cleaned up my face at the bathroom sink.  By the time I returned to the bedroom, Daddy was passed out on the bed.  As usual, I fixed my own dinner and put my lonely self to bed.

But later that night when I was asleep, I dreamed about experiencing that kind of joy and love from my father again.  It had been such a rare treat for him to express any desire whatsoever to spend that little amount of time with me, and even rarer for him to smile and laugh with me the way he had when I had dressed up.  So I dreamed about the three of us together again, me in makeup and one of Mommy's dresses, Daddy smiling and hugging Mommy and me.

I woke up the next morning and decided that I absolutely had to dance with my father again.  I had to make him laugh and smile and love me once more.  Maybe then he would stop going to the bar every night before coming home.  If he loved me again, then maybe he wouldn't get mad and yell and throw things.  Maybe then Mommy wouldn't purposely work late to avoid him, and maybe I wouldn't feel so alone anymore.

So the next time I came home to an empty house, I dressed up again.  I was so young and my coordination was so bad that the makeup job came out very sloppy.  But I didn't care.  I looked in the mirror and what I saw was beautiful.

Daddy thought so too.  He came home and said, "My God, you look so much like your mother.  It's uncanny."  He picked me up and spun me around again, exhaling a copious volume of whiskey-tainted breath in the process.  He pinched my cheek and gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me, "You're the only good thing in my life, you know that?"

"What about Mommy?" I asked naively as he set me back down.

He smiled a sad smile and sat down on the edge of the bed again.  "You'd better clean that shit off your face and put her clothes back in the closet before she comes home and catches you.  She's been in a real bitchy mood lately."

Then he laid back again, preparing to pass out, and my heart sank.  The moment had come and gone so quickly.  He had been so sweet to me for fifteen seconds.  Then I mentioned Mom and made his good mood vanish, along with his will to stay conscious.  Stupid.

I lay in bed that night trying to figure out some way to create a real live version of that dream scene, with Daddy and Mommy and me looking sharp together, all smiles and hugs.  I figured I would just have to keep dressing up whenever I could and hope that Mommy would come home and catch Daddy and me dancing one night, and then she'd smile and join us and we'd all laugh and dance together.

But the plan never worked.  I kept dressing up, and sometimes Daddy would come home sober enough to pick me up and smile and maybe even dance for a bit.  But other times he'd be so bombed he'd just ignore me, heading straight for bed to pass out.  Of course, I'd help him out of his shoes and somehow figure out a way to drag him into the bed if he didn't make it that far on his own.  It's amazing what a nine-year-old can figure out how to do when pressed.  In any case, though, Mommy kept staying out later every night.  By the time she would finally come home, Daddy would always be passed out, and so I would already have taken off the dress-up gear.

I guess I was about eleven or so when Dad stopped thinking my little dress-up sessions were funny.  He'd come home really blasted and say the things I had grown used to hearing from him:  "Goddammit, Peter, can't you find a normal hobby like baseball or something?  I mean, it was cute when you were a kid, but this dress-up shit is for fruitcakes."  Then he'd pass out wherever he felt like it.  I didn't bother to move him to the bedroom anymore.  Most nights Mom would stay out the whole night, so there wasn't much point in getting him into the bed anyway.

Then one night a little over a year ago, neither of them came home.  I was so scared I just hid in Mom's closet and curled up in one of her dresses.  In the morning she walked in and found me, asleep in her dress and makeup on the closet floor, and she realized that her only son was not doing well.  It didn't take long for her to go through with the divorce and move the two of us to Glenoak.

***

I haven't heard from Dad since we left.  At least once a day I still think about him and wonder where he is.  I don't know why.  He was always horrible to me except for those times when he came home and caught me in drag, lifted me up and held me, laughing and maybe even saying something nice.  Maybe that's why I still go in Mom's closet, try on some of her clothes, and put on her makeup even though it's been over a year since I've seen him.  I guess a small part of me still holds hope that one day he'll walk through that bedroom door and see me in Mom's make-up and evening gown and realize that he loves me again, and we'll dance together once more.

I know it's all just a ridiculous fantasy, though.  It'll never happen.  I'll never see him again.

And even if he did come back and see me, he'd be disgusted because I really don't look pretty in makeup anymore.  The tears keep making the mascara run down my face. 

THE END

------

Song: "Dance With My Father" by Luther Vandross

Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence

My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then

Spin me around 'til I fell asleep

Then up the stairs he would carry me

And I knew for sure I was loved

If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him

I'd play a song that would never, ever end

How I'd love, love, love

To dance with my father again

When I and my mother would disagree

To get my way, I would run from her to him

He'd make me laugh just to comfort me

Then finally make me do just what my mama said

Later that night when I was asleep

He left a dollar under my sheet

Never dreamed that he would be gone from me

If I could steal one final glance, one final step, one final dance with him

I'd play a song that would never, ever end

'Cause I'd love, love, love

To dance with my father again

Sometimes I'd listen outside her door

And I'd hear how my mother cried for him

I pray for her even more than me

I pray for her even more than me

I know I'm praying for much too much

But could you send back the only man she loved

I know you don't do it usually

But dear Lord she's dying

To dance with my father again

Every night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream


End file.
